


once more into the fray.

by ugliegay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood and Gore, Drabble, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 00:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugliegay/pseuds/ugliegay
Summary: [Akaashi’s] heart longs for Tokyo; he’s not convinced Tokyo even existed in the first place. It’s all trees here. Green as far as the eyes can see.





	once more into the fray.

**Author's Note:**

> heyo this is an ametuer attempt at horror i write a few weeks ago inspired by the gray and the whole man v nature theme. mind the gore and major character death tags. read at your own discretion. thank you.

Akaashi pretends that the new place doesn’t give him nightmares.

Deep in the woods, they are, where no one can hear them. The nearest soul lives eleven kilometers east and not even the lovely birdsong can rid Akaashi of his horrible dreams. He curls up closer to Bokuto and wills himself to stop thinking about it.

He falls asleep and scratches indents into Bokuto’s forearms when the dream sequence starts up again.

-

Teeth. Sharp canines and crimson blood. The fox pulls its lips back, snarls from deep in its belly. It tastes metallic, the air. It smells like loose change and rotting flesh. Always the same thing over and over, but a different animal each time. Fox fangs shove deep in through eye sockets, tearing the corpse apart, ligament by ligament, and it haunts Akaashi.

-

Bokuto watches the news. They’re too far out to get the paper delivered so he insists on watching every morning. He takes delight in hearing about those gorgeous stories, the ones that warm the heart amidst all the tragedy of being alive. Akaashi does not believe in those smiles; he pretends to anyway.

Quiet accompanies him everywhere. He makes Bokuto a thermos of tea, readies his camera, always in silence. The birds don’t chirp sometimes and it’s so eerie Akaashi can’t stand to be outside the bedroom.

His heart longs for Tokyo; he’s not convinced Tokyo even existed in the first place. It’s all trees here. Green as far as the eyes can see.

Bokuto leaves soon after and Akaashi watches. He peers into the lovely, dark foliage and expects to see fox eyes looking back at him. Instead, it’s a monarch butterfly, beautiful as can be.

Akaashi wants to crush it.

The quiet makes people do awful things. Akaashi wants to make the butterfly scream, pull it apart limb from limb just to hear something.

-

At night, he cries.

Akaashi spreads Bokuto’s legs wide, and drowns himself between them. He bites tanned flesh hard enough to draw blood and the man he has chosen to love screams into the night. No one is there to hear them. The nearest soul lives twelve kilometers away.

Keiji. The chants grow louder, so loud. Keiji, oh gods Keiji right there.

The waves crest. Akaashi swallows every last bit, every gasp and moan.

You sure you don’t want me to get you off?

No. Always no. I’m already taken care of.

Sweat dries and Bokuto falls asleep. He’s happy, but Akaashi is not. It’s too quiet, much too quiet to sleep. Rest evades him three nights in a row and all Akaashi sees now when he closes his eyes is fox fangs and the illusion of a Tokyo train stop.

He misses it so much. No one knows. The nearest soul lives thirteen kilometers east.

-

An owl flutters down and digs claws into Akaashi’s chest. The beat stops, pulse slows to nothing, and it’s so silent. Akaashi can’t stand it. Those yellow eyes look like Bokuto’s. He attempts to cry, attempts to scream. The woods are endless and talons hook under skin, pulling it up like paper.

-

In the morning, Bokuto heads out with his camera early. When Akaashi wakes he is alone, and there’s nothing but the smell of smoke.

He pads around the house, wooden floors creaking and groaning under his weight. When he passes a mirror, he turns sharply away from the jutting cheekbones and the violets under eyes. His white nightgown trails behind him.

Smoke turns into flames. From a single vanilla candle, the entire kitchen lights up into fire. Akaashi doesn’t notice until the sparks travel to the bedroom. Up the sheets, stained from night after night of love making; they are the first to go and then Akaashi himself. He screams. Fire melts his flesh to his bones and the snow comes when it’s too late. The house which Akaashi came to despise is gone. Akaashi is gone.

-

Bokuto returns from his hike that night, just fourteen kilometers east where he captured robins and owls between the shutters of his lens.

At the helm of his burned down bedroom lies a head of artfully strewn black hair. A fox sits, clawing at the face of his charred lover, tears the flesh apart with growls and snarls. His heartbeat is so loud.

Bokuto screams.

 

 


End file.
